Time Is The Longest Distance
by Ariety Blythe
Summary: updated! after HBP: Trio must find & destroy remaining Horcruxes & face Voldemort. But when the situation becomes dire, Hermione has a chance to turn back time, for better...or worse. Love, lust, loss, laughs, a little sex, a little death. R&R please.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm not fussed, actually," said Hermione.

"Well, you should be. Go on, then," said Ginny, brandishing a jar of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion at her. Hermione didn't take it.

"My hair is fine the way it is," Hermione snapped. "Besides," she said, fluffing out the bushy curls, "no one's going to be paying any attention to me."

"If by 'no one' you mean Ron, then you're probably right, said Ginny dryly.

Hermione glowered, but Ginny just laughed.

"Phlegm and her faux-veela family will be flapping about like pale, overgrown moths. If Ron can manage to remain standing through the ceremony with the rest of the groomsmen, I'll be amazed. But that's no reason not to try."

Hermione glanced at herself in the mirror and noticed that she was dangerously close to pouting. She was muckle-mouthed and wide-eyed and looked like exactly the sort of person that she knew she was; one who'd come top of the class every term. One who never took her nose out of a book.

Ginny swooped down in Hermione's moment of hesitancy.

"Just this once," she cooed. "There certainly won't be a chance to smarted up once you're all off hunting for the rest of the Horcruxes." She said this last part darkly and in a rush, as though she had not actually meant to say it at all.

Hermione could see Ginny's reflection in the mirror and thought that the younger girl looked older than she ought. We're all of us older than we ought to be, Hermione thought. In her seventeen years, Hermione had done far more than excel in school. For the past six years she'd helped her two best friends, Ron Weasley and the infamous Harry Potter as they struggled to keep the darkest wizard in ages from regaining power. Eventually Voldemort had returned to full strength, and they had done what they could to prolong the inevitable.

But this summer the end was finally here. After Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's wedding, Harry was setting off to finish the work he had begun with Dumbledore: locate the remaining objects housing severed pieces of Voldemort's soul and destroy them. And then destroy Voldemort himself. Hermione and Ron were taking this final journey along with Harry; they'd been with him for most of the way, and they'd end it together.

Ginny would not be going. Her mother insisted that Ginny return to Hogwarts this year, but even if Ginny had been of age and could have done as she liked, Hermione knew that Harry, who cared very deeply about the only Weasley girl, would never have consented to take her along.

It was very possible that after the wedding, Ginny would never see Harry again. We might none of us make it, Hermione thought. And though she banished the thought from her mind immediately, it was that fleeting realization that made up her mind. We might all die, and I have one more chance to feel pretty. I might as well take advantage.

"Oh, _fine!" _Hermione groaned as she snatched the potion and began to douse her hair with the stuff. The grin returned to Ginny's freckled face.

"Excellent!" she said. "I've got to dash and get ready myself, now." Ginny was a bridesmaid in the ceremony, along with Fleur's younger sister Gabrielle. "I'll see you afterward," she called and she turned with a swish of long, red hair and disappeared down the hall.

"See you," Hermione echoed vaguely. Her scalp began to tingle as the Sleekeazy Potion set in. She watched in the mirror as her flyaway hair gradually smoothed down, eventually falling in soft ripples about her shoulders. The potion _did_ make a difference, she had to admit.

Hermione gazed into the mirror for a bit, sucking in her cheeks, and attempting to arch her eyebrows the way Parvati often had a trick of doing when passing Firenze, the divination professor, in the castle halls.

"That's right, dear, hold the chin a bit higher now. Yes, that's what the boys like!"

For a moment, Hermione did begin to raise her chin, and then realized that the mirror had been talking to her, as mirrors in the wizarding world often did.

Instantly she returned her chin to its proper place.

"Oh, rubbish!" she said, turning abruptly. She left the room in a huff.

"Shoulders back, dear!" the mirror called after her.

The wedding was a large one held in the backyard of the Burrow, with all the Weasley children in the bridal party. Fred and George, to the shock of all, behaved admirably and Molly blubbered through the entire ceremony. Percy was not in attendance.

Hermione sat beside Harry and felt decidedly out of place. The seats on the lawn were filled both with silvery-blonde heads and red ones. Hermione did her best not to watch Ron too closely, but she couldn't help but notice that he wore the glazed look of one entranced by the veela-spell.

It was impossible to be truly light-hearted. Life goes on, even in dark times, but the joy in the air was undercut by apprehension. Bill still had visible scars on his face and arms after being attacked by Fenrir Greyback, a savage werewolf, in a battle last year. And although Fleur looked stunning as always, her face, which was typically haughty, was now changed. She was fiercely somber. Bill's attack had touched a place deep within her, and she was forever altered.

Following the ceremony there was music and feasting. The yard was lit with dozens of twinkling fairy lights and the wooden picnic tables covered in elaborate silver cloths sagged beneath the weight of Molly's admirable cooking.

Hermione stuck to the outskirts of the party, a glass of pumpkin juice in hand, and scolded herself whenever she caught herself deliberately standing beneath the lights to make her hair glisten and her skin glow.

"Rubbish!" she muttered as she moved into shadow for a third time in quick succession. "I won't stand here preening like a peacock, waiting for Ron to notice me!"

She put her half-empty cup down on the end of a table with such force that some of the juice sloshed out over the brim.

With her mouth in a thin line and her hands clenched in fists by her side, she flounced off into the midst of the crowd, looking more like her typical Know-It-All self than Ginny would have deemed acceptable for one last night of whirlwind romance.

Hermione found Harry easily enough. He was skulking around the dance floor several meters away from Ginny, watching her hungrily while she greeted her relatives.

"You could ask her to dance, you know," said Hermione pointedly as she sidled up beside him.

Harry grunted but didn't take his eyes off Ginny.

"I don't suppose you've seen Ron anywhere, have you?"

Harry grunted again. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. Finally Harry turned to her.

"What?" he asked.

"You haven't heard anything I've just said, have you?"

Rather than answer the question, Harry turned back toward Ginny and said, "Look at her! She hasn't spoken to me once all night."

"Well, Harry, you did break it off with her at the beginning of the summer."

"What's that got to do with anything?" he demanded. "She knows why—"

"Yes, yes," Hermione interrupted wearily. "It's for her own protection. Of course she knows that, Harry, but it's still difficult."

"It's only ruddy difficult because she isn't talking to me!"

"I think you should ask her to dance. She'll be really pleased."

"No," said Harry flatly.

"Well you might as well dance with me, then, and make yourself useful."

Harry blanched a bit. "I can't dance with you," he said. "Ron'd kill me."

"As if he'd notice," said Hermione darkly.

Although she had feigned ignorance, Hermione knew exactly where Ron was and what he was doing. He was across the yard surrounded by a gaggle of Fleur's younger cousins, all of them part-veela from the look of it. He was grinning idiotically and flexing muscles he certainly did not have while the girls tittered with laugher around him.

Beside her, Harry erupted with disbelief.

"_What?"_ he cried.

It took only moments to discover what had upset him. Ginny was out on the middle of the dance floor with her arms twined around the neck of a tall, handsome boy who looked suspiciously French.

Before Hermione could chide Harry for his stubbornness he had grabbed her wrist and lugged her out to the dance floor.

"What are you doing?" Hermione hissed. "I thought you said you couldn't dance with me!"

"Yeah, well," said Harry shortly. "I'm having a bit of an emergency at the moment."

Harry steered her awkwardly over toward Ginny and the tall boy.

"Harry, don't be ridiculous!" said Hermione. "You are not going to use me to make Ginny jealous. It's your own fault she's dancing with someone else. I told you to go and ask her, but you were too busy being a prat!"

"What did you to your hair?" Harry said savagely.

"W-what?" Hermione lost her footing in her surprise.

"Your hair," said Harry, peering at it. "It's different. You've done something to it."

"Just a bit of Sleekeazy's," Hermione said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing utterly. "Don't you like it?"

"No," said Harry, bluntly.

"N-no?" Hermione faltered.

"Not at all."

Hermione just noticed that the slow waltz playing when they had begun dancing had since ended, and the song playing currently was rather fast, and yet she and Harry were still wound around one another, swaying gently side to side.

She gently pushed away from the circle of his arms. She let out a little laugh that sounded false and hollow even to her own ears and told him that she rather liked the effects of the hair potion, and besides, it was only for one night.

"Ron won't like it either, I bet," said Harry.

"Yeah, I bet," agreed Ginny, who had just stepped up beside them. She did not look happy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Time Is The Longest Distance**

**A/N: Set in canon after HBP and told predominantly from Hermione's perspective, this story follows the trio on their journey to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes and eventually face The Dark Lord himself. When the situation becomes dire, Hermione has an opportunity to turn back time, for better… or worse? **

**Love, lust, loss, laughs, a little sex, a little death.**

**Pairings will run rampant in this story, including but not limited to: Hr/R, Hr/H, Hr/D, H/G, D/G, Lupin/Tonks, and Lupin/Sirius (in pensieve memories and recollections, of course). **

**Read and review, please.**

_Disclaimer: All characters and most concepts are the sole property of J. K. Rowling, although I am grateful to borrow them for the purposes of this fanfiction._

(This chapter is a bit short, forgive me, but there'll be a new one out quote soon, I promise!)

Chapter Two

Hermione had known Ginny Weasley for quite some time, now, and the two girls were close. Flaming red hair was not the only Weasley trait Ginny had inherited. She also possessed the Weasley temper which came in sudden fits that burned fast and hard. Hermione had witnessed Ginny unleash her temper on every last one of her brothers, and even on Harry, once, when she discovered he'd been carelessly following instructions scrawled in the margins of his potions book. After her experience with Riddle's diary, Ginny wouldn't stand for such behavior and made that loud and clear.

So although Hermione had witnessed this smoldering fury before on several occasions, she never imagined what it would feel like to be standing on the receiving end.

Ginny stood with her right hip cocked to the side, her arms crossed in front of her, and her dark eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

Hermione tried frantically to send facial telegraphs. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows raised so alarmingly they nearly disappeared into her hairline. Come on, Ginny, she thought desperately. Don't be ridiculous.

"Have you seen Ron yet, then?" Ginny asked.

"No," Hermione said. "He's busy, I expect."

"Well someone ought to get him over here, as Harry's going to ask me to dance any second now, and I'd hate to leave you on your own."

"I'm going to what?" Harry asked, blankly.

"Ask me to dance," Ginny said deliberately. "Yes, any second now."

For a moment Hermione actually believed that Harry would do as he was told. There was a soft, willing look in his eyes when he gazed at Ginny, and Hermione was prepared to accept that the two of them would soon twirl off into the crowd and leave her to manage being a wallflower as best she could. The moment passed.

"Seems as though you've got quite a suitable dance partner already," he said.

"Oh, _Harry_…" Hermione moaned.

"For your _information_," Ginny began scathingly, "That boy just _happens_ to be my new cousin by marriage. So I don't think you have to worry about one measly dance between _relations_!"

"Well why dance with him at all, then?" Harry demanded.

"It's not as though _you'd_ asked me!"

"Well if I was planning to, I'm certainly not about to go on with it now!"

"Oh no," Ginny retorted. "Not when you've got Hermione to dance with."

"The two of you are being ridiculous!" Hermione said, finally.

Harry scuffed his shoe in the grass. "Look," he said. "I didn't… I mean, I don't… I'm sorry."

Ginny stared at him for a moment. "Sod off," she said, turning her back and walking away.

"Bloody hell!" Harry swore.

"You should go after her," Hermione said quietly.

"A lot of help _you've_ been."

"Yes, because it's all my fault."

Harry stared at her.

"_What?_" Hermione asked.

"I don't see why you had to go and change your hair. You look completely different. It's eerie and I don't like it."

"As if that's got to do with anything."  
"It does!" Harry insisted. "You look like a girl."

Hermione could not believe it. "Changed your name to Ron, then, have you?" she said severely. "I _am_ a girl, you git. So terribly sorry to inconvenience you!" And with that she stormed off toward the house.

Once inside, she made her way to the kitchen, which was empty. Hermione sat down at the table and played idly with the fraying edge of the tablecloth. Nothing was going as planned. Hermione knew that Ginny would soon come to her senses, but she couldn't make head or tail of Harry's outburst. What will tomorrow be like, she wondered, when we set out for Godric's Hollow?

A lot had happened in the last year, and Dumbledore's death had touched Harry in a place that Hermione doubted even Sirius' death had disturbed. Harry was very likely marching off toward his death and of course he was bound to be unnerved by it. Still, if he continued to be as erratic as he'd been this evening, Hermione didn't think any of them had much of a chance for survival.

Hermione heard footsteps coming up behind her and, without turning around, said tiredly, "Harry, if you say one more word about my hair tonight, I'll scream."

She was jerked roughly out of her chair with her arms pinned behind her as someone leaned over her shoulder and whispered silkily in her ear, "Not another word, Mudblood, or I'll give you a real reason to scream."

Draco Malfoy's wand was pointed directly at her throat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Time Is The Longest Distance**

**A/N: Set in canon after HBP and told predominantly from Hermione's perspective, this story follows the trio on their journey to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes and eventually face The Dark Lord himself. When the situation becomes dire, Hermione has an opportunity to turn back time, for better… or worse? **

**Love, lust, loss, laughs, a little sex, a little death.**

**Pairings will run rampant in this story, including but not limited to: Hr/R, Hr/H, Hr/D, H/G, D/G, Lupin/Tonks, and Lupin/Sirius (in pensieve memories and recollections, of course). **

**Read and review, please. I sincerely appreciate feedback.**

_Disclaimer: All characters and most concepts are the sole property of J. K. Rowling, although I am grateful to borrow them for the purposes of this fanfiction._

"Now," Draco said. "I'm going to let go of you in a moment, Granger. If you scream or so much as think about going for your wand, you will regret it. I'm not here to tussle with a bit of fluff like you. I've got a message for the Dream Team, and my orders are to deliver it and get gone. Understood?"

Hermione nodded and Draco released her as promised, although he kept his wand arm aloft, almost lazily, as though it were a mere formality, as though he didn't really consider her a threat.

She ought to have proved him wrong. She ought to have reached for her wand, done _something. _But she hadn't, and it was too late now. She stood, arms by her sides, and glared at him.

He was every bit as tall and pale as she remembered him. He stood with a casual, arrogant elegance, a cat-like grace. He moved languidly, he spoke in a slow drawl. To look at him, one would think he cared nothing for time or the pace in which it passes. His face was drawn and he seemed thin. There was a panic hidden deep in his face somehow that Hermione didn't think had been there in the years before. But he wasn't the same boy anymore. He had done horrible things. Terrible things. He had sided with a dark and unforgiving people; he was not a boy anymore. He could not be a boy after having seen the things Hermione knew he must have seen. Who could remain a child after breathing in the searing smell of his own sizzling flesh as a mark was burned into his forearm?

For the second time that evening, Hermione realized that these people she had known, they'd none of them be young ever again.

Still, she had no sympathy for him. If Malfoy had lost his innocence he had done it willingly. She would not show weakness before him. She would not speak first.

"Sit, Granger," Malfoy commanded in his trademark drawl.

Hermione lowered herself into a chair without taking her eyes from his face.

Malfoy stowed his wand inside his robes and sat down across from her.

"This wedding is pathetic," he remarked, casually. "I'm a bit surprised Fleur would have settled for something so shabby. You'd expect the French to have a bit more flair, wouldn't you? Ah, well," he said. "We all go slumming at times. After all, here I am in this hovel. It's not always glamorous, being me. There's always sacrifices."

Hermione watched him silently. He was toying with her, and she would not be the first to speak. Let him deliver his message if he would.

"Your people are all daft, by the way," Draco continued, leaning back in his chair. "This party is full-to-brimming with members of the Order, and yet, all I had to do was walk through the front door. Now there's a Death Eater here to join the celebrations."

"I'm surprised you've the courage to admit what you are," said Hermione.

"Oh, I'll do better than that," Draco whispered. "I'll show you." Slowly he pulled the sleeve of his robe up over his arm. There, burned into the blackened flesh, was a gruesome skull with a snake twisting from its mouth. The Dark Mark.

He reached forward and took Hermione's arm. "Can you imagine," he said softly. "What it feels like to be linked to such a wizard? All he has to do is touch," here, Draco began running his fingertips lightly up the length of Hermione's forearm, giving her chills. "And my very flesh burns to be reunited with him. From every corner of the world, those bearing his mark will feel the burning and know what it is to be called home."

For a moment they stayed frozen that way, Draco leaning forward with his hair in his eyes, his fingers cold on Hermione's soft skin. But he dropped her arm suddenly and sat upright, making her wish, somehow, she had been able to pull her arm away instead, and leaving her to wonder why her skin still tingled where he had touched her.

Draco resumed a light tone of voice. "I know you're _dying_ to know how I got past all of Moody's eccentric, paranoid security measures, and because I enjoy putting you people in your place I'm only too happy to divulge. It is exactly what I told you before; I simply walked right in. You're all so busy cuddling one another, who's going to notice one more devastatingly handsome fellow with silvery-blonde hair?"

Hermione's heart sank as Draco spoke. Of course. It was perfect. The Burrow was teeming with Fleur's relatives. Assuming he was careful, it would be easy for Draco to pass among them unnoticed.

"Slap on a French accent—which I flatter myself I do quite well—and all I had to do was sample from the buffet and stick to the shadows." Draco gave a self-satisfied smile. "Oh sure," he waved his hand airily, "There was a protective ward here, a dark detector there, but I had no intention of killing anyone tonight. The counter-jinxes were a snap. I simply mulled around until I could catch you alone for a moment. Although I did enjoy the floor show. Things not going so well for poor Scarhead, are they? I witnessed a bit of a spat between him and his lady. Potty never did have the proper charm. Then again, I don't see Weasel around, either, lapping at your heels as usual. Don't tell me he's back with Lavender," Draco smirked. "Even a half-wit Gryffindor like her could do so much better."

Hermione had had enough.

"Are you going to give me the message, or not?" she said finally.

"Struck a nerve, did I?" Draco sounded pleased at the thought. "Very well," he said briskly. "To business. We need to set up a meeting place."

"What?"

"A place in which to meet. How is it that you're top of our class, Granger?"

"What makes you think that we'd agree to meet you anywhere, Malfoy?"

"Not just me. Snape will be coming along as well."

"Oh yes," Hermione said. "I'm sure Harry would like nothing more than to pop round for tea with you and Professor Snape."

"Fine," said Draco. "I'll be going, then."

"Going?"

"Yes. Leaving. Removing my distinguished presence from this impoverished excuse for a dwelling. Going on my merry way."

"You can't just leave!"

"The food certainly isn't worth staying for, and I expect that that goes without saying when in reference to the company. I delivered my message. Snape wants to meet with you lot. You turned that down flat, without even discussing it with your mates, so there's clearly no reason for me to be here any longer."

"You held your wand to my throat to tell me that Snape wants a meeting?"

"Well, it was rather amusing. I was slightly disappointed. I'd thought the great Potter would have taught you to be a bit more offensive. Weaslette, on the other hand, she would've been a rouser."

"I suppose slapping you back in our third year wasn't offensive enough for you?"

Draco touched his cheek and smiled. "I was hoping you'd do it again."

"You disgust me."

"And you me, Mudblood. But, oh, can't we put aside our differences this once, and unite for the greater good?" Draco clasped his hands together and batted his eyes as he mocked her. "That's what you want me to say, isn't it? So sorry to disappoint, but that's not the message. The message is that Snape needs to speak with Harry, and if The-Boy-Who-Angsts won't grant him an audience, then I imagine Snape will have to force one. It's all the same to me."

With that, Draco rose from his chair.

"I suggest you think it over, Granger. You need us as much as we need you." And with those mysterious words he walked out of the Burrow. Hermione hurried after him, but when she got outside he was already gone. He must have apparated, Hermione thought.

"Bollocks!" she swore as she stomped her foot.

"'Ermineeee…" a voice behind her slurred. She turned and peered into a clump of bushes. Someone was huddled in them. Someone with a shock of bright red hair.

"…Ron?" Hermione asked. And then, a second later, "Are you _drunk_?!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Time Is The Longest Distance**

**A/N: Set in canon after HBP and told predominantly from Hermione's perspective, this story follows the trio on their journey to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes and eventually face The Dark Lord himself. When the situation becomes dire, Hermione has an opportunity to turn back time, for better… or worse? **

**Love, lust, loss, laughs, a little sex, a little death.**

**Pairings will run rampant in this story, including but not limited to: Hr/R, Hr/H, Hr/D, H/G, D/G, Lupin/Tonks, and Lupin/Sirius (in pensieve memories and recollections, of course). **

**Read and review, please. I sincerely appreciate feedback. Much gratitude to my two reviewers thus far, and those reading who have yet to review! Thanks!**

_Disclaimer: All characters and most concepts are the sole property of J. K. Rowling, although I am grateful to borrow them for the purposes of this fanfiction._

Ron struggled to sit upright. "'S'a bit o'fire whiskey," he slurred.

Horrified, Hermione crouched down beside him. Ron's robes were wrinkled and mussed and there were twigs and blades of grass in his hair. She reached over and began to pick them out. "Look at the state of you!" she said.

Ron looked up at her gratefully.

"Honestly, Ron! What were you thinking?"

"Didn't reckon it'd be that strong. 'Sides, I'm alright." He swayed a trifle and Hermione put her hand on his back to steady him. "I'm swell."

"Clearly," said Hermione. "Can you stand?"

"Sure," said Ron. "Been standing all m'life." He thrust his arms out in front of him, and with effort Hermione managed to help pull him to his feet.

"I wish you'd chosen another night for this," Hermione said as she draped Ron's arm around her shoulder for support.

"Had to try it at least once."  
"Yes, but you could have timed it better."

"This might be the last time. The end of all the times. And you know it."

"Hush," Hermione scolded. "Let's walk around a bit. You need the air."

"There's a lotta things to do," Ron continued as they walked. "Harry's m'best mate, and I'm in it now, and that's good. That's how it should be. But that doesn't change the fact that this could be it. The end."

"Don't talk that way," said Hermione.

"Why not?" Ron demanded, stopping suddenly. "Why not say it? S'true. You-Know-Who might snuff us all out. I might never see the Cannons win a cup. I might never play chess again, or finish Hogwarts, or do anything. I'll never get my apparating license, or… or…" Ron trailed off and looked at Hermione.

She was painfully aware of his arm still slung around her shoulders. His face was absurdly close to hers; she could have counted each of his freckles. Hermione felt a sudden panic and emptiness in her chest, as though she had just taken a sudden fall, but she knew she was standing still.

"Your hair," Ron said softly, reaching up to touch a loose strand by her face.

"Oh," Hermione stammered. "I know. It's silly."

"No," Ron said. "You look like you did at the Yule Ball. D'you remember that night?  
"Yes," she whispered.

"I'd like to do that night over. If I could go back, I'd redo that night."

Hermione's heart was thundering in her chest. She felt the air crackling with possibility around her. After all this time, she had nearly resigned herself to the idea that Ron might never… But now, tonight, and the way he was looking at her, and the fire whiskey, allowing him to say the things he never said. Hermione dared to hope.

"You know, I should have asked you to the ball," Ron lamented. "I should've done it."

Hermione said nothing. She was unable to move or speak. It was as though her entire focus, her whole mind was willing Ron to lean just a little bit forward. _Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!_ she thought.

They were standing so closely now, that she could smell the sweet alcohol on his breathe. _Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

"I've never told you," Ron began, struggling. "How I feel, I mean, you…" Ron screwed up his face in concentration. "I just, I want you to know that I…"

"Yes?" Hermione said so softly that she wasn't sure she had actually spoken at all.

"I…"

Ron lurched to the side and vomited violently onto the lawn.

Hermione stood, numb from shock, and stared at Ron in disbelief. After a moment she pulled herself together, sighed, and crouched down to rub his back until he was through.

XXXXX

Ginny saw him walking toward her long before he intended her to. Still, Draco walked confidently up to the youngest Weasley sibling and smirked.

"Hello, Firefly."

"Malfoy. Is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

"Tsk, tsk. Such tired invective. I've been disappointed twice, now, by you people. Please don't let me down again."

"Fine," said Ginny. "Get out of here or I'll hex you to Durmstang and back."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm here to chat, not duel. But allow me a rain check, won't you?"

"If you stand here a moment longer, you won't need one," said Ginny, raising her wand.

"Easy there, Firefly, let's not get hasty."

He grabbed her around the waist and began to waltz her toward the dance floor.

"Get your hands off me!" Ginny hissed.

Draco dropped all pretense. "Listen," he said as they danced. "I don't particularly want to be here, but I haven't got much of a choice. As it is, I'd rather not have the entire Order breathing down my neck. I'm trying to help you blood-traitors! Show a little gratitude! We're dancing because I can pass for one of the Delacours if no one looks at me too closely, and since you've already hurt poor Potty's feelings by dancing with one of them earlier tonight, it's all without suspicion. Please keep your mouth shut and listen to what I've got to say. Granger didn't seem to take me seriously--"

"Hermione knows you're here?"

"Yes, we spoke. And as you can see she left me quite unscathed. However, I'm not sure if she'll pass my message along to Scarhead, so I figured a little reinforcement couldn't hurt." He paused for a moment. "You dance well despite your poverty. I can't imagine you've had much occasion to attend such functions."

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes toward the sky briefly. "It was a compliment, Weaslette."

"I've no use for your compliments, and very little patience for you in general, so either tell me what you're on about, or I _will_ hex you."

"Snape wants a meeting with Potter."

Ginny laughed.

"Laugh all you want, Firefly, it's the truth."

"You're off your head."

"Do you want your boyfriend to die or not? Because if you two would like to live happily ever after in a dilapidated shack like this one, you'll tell Potter to take the meeting."

Ginny stared at Draco as they twirled round and round.

"What exactly are you saying?" she asked.

XXXXX

So much for a night of romance, Hermione thought to herself as she quietly closed the door to Ron's bedroom behind her as she left.

It had taken her the better part of half an hour to drag and coax him up the stairs and into his bed. He passed out immediately, and was snoring loudly when she left.

Hermione went into the room she was sharing with Ginny while she stayed at the Weasley's. She paused in front of the same mirror that she had gotten ready in front of just a few hours earlier.

The SleekEazy's potion was still working wonders on her hair, her dress robes were very pretty, she did, she thought to herself, look quite nice when all was said and done.

And what a waste.

She'd spent the evening bickering with Harry, being accosted by Draco, and tending to Ron as he vomited, which, slugs or no slugs, was disgusting.

Well, she could worry about all of it tomorrow. For the moment she was absolutely exhausted.

Hermione flopped herself down on her cot, not even bothering to change into her nightgown.

"We need to talk." Ginny Weasley was standing the doorway looking greatly displeased.

"I just got through talking to Malfoy," she said.

"Oh dear," said Hermione.


End file.
